One Night in Meduseld
by Finduilas88
Summary: Eowyn knew that others would name it infatuation; a young woman's crush on a older man, handsome, charming - and out of reach. But she was determined it would be more than that. Rating may change in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_For those of you following my other LotR story, "Gray Eyes, White Tower," don't panic! I have every intention of continuing it, but sometimes plot bunnies come along that cannot be denied. This will be much shorter than "Gray Eyes", probably around 5-6 chapters. Please note that the rating may change in later chapters._

_Enjoy! If you do enjoy it - or even have a bone to pick - reviews are very welcome and appreciated._

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Chapter 1

_July 3018_

Éomer glanced at his sister perfunctorily as he held out his arm to her, then paused and looked again. "Éowyn, I can't recall seeing you wear that dress before, is it new?" he asked, sounding puzzled.

"It was made some time ago, but I've never had a reason to wear it," she told him, taking his arm. They started out toward the throne room together, and she continued, "It's not often we have such a distinguished guest, so I thought it would be appropriate."

"Oh, of course," Éomer said gruffly. "Well, you look…err…_nice_, sister," he added lamely, obviously still trying to come to grips with the fact that his sister had become an attractive woman.

_Nice!_ Éowyn thought, rolling her eyes and suppressing an urge to cuff her brother. She certainly hoped it was much more than 'nice' since her intent was to impress. But his surprise was to be expected, normally she dressed to conceal her figure rather than highlight it, and for good reason.

That 'good reason' was attentive, as always, when they entered the throne room. Gríma's eyes sought her out and his reaction to her attire was immediate. He stared, eyes wide and mouth open for a moment before his usual caution reasserted itself and his face closed.

Éowyn turned resolutely away from him, chin lifted in defiance; he was definitely _not_ the man she wished to impress. She looked toward the king's seat, fighting back a wince of pain on seeing her uncle, bent and gray, nodding himself to sleep on the throne. Standing nearby was her cousin Théodred, conversing with their guest for the evening. Théodred glanced toward his approaching cousins, his brows rising in appreciative surprise at Éowyn's appearance.

Éowyn's heart was beating hard as the other man turned toward them; only dimly she heard her cousin formally introducing them. "My lord, you may recall my cousin Éomer, Third Marshall of the Mark, and his sister, the Lady Éowyn."

Boromir of Gondor was much as she remembered him from his last visit; near in height to her tall brother and cousin but broader in the shoulders. A mane of golden-brown hair—unusual for a Gondorian—framed an open face with an easy smile and piercing green eyes. Older, of course, that was to be expected, and somewhat grimmer than the last time she'd seen him, but still very much a man that would find it easy to attract women even without his lofty title and noble birth. She felt a pang of doubt; would he even notice that she was no longer the scrawny waif he had met years before?

The Gondorian warmly congratulated Éomer on his elevation to Third Marshall which had occurred since his previous stay at Edoras. Knowing he would address her next she cast her eyes down, suddenly unwilling to meet his gaze; afraid of what she might find there. Courtesy bade that he speak first, but instead of a polite greeting from him she heard a quick intake of breath as his hand tightened on hers. Surprise gave her the courage to meet his eyes, which even more surprisingly, were fixed not on her face but her cleavage.

_Ah ha!_ She thought in triumph. He started and met her eyes, the chagrined expression crossing his face telling her very clearly that he knew he had been caught looking. "It is pleasure to see you again, my lord," she murmured, a smile in her voice and in her gaze.

He recovered quickly, kissing her hand and smiling wryly before saying, "The pleasure is entirely mine, Lady Éowyn." Then instead of releasing her hand he covered it with the other, saying contritely, "Please excuse my discourtesy, my lady, for a moment your beauty left me bereft of speech." Despite his conciliatory tone, Lord Boromir's eyes were warmly appraising; what's more it was obvious that he liked what he saw.

A snort of amusement drew her attention to her cousin who was snickering behind his hand. In contrast, her brother looked confused and faintly suspicious. But before more could be said the steward informed Théodred that it was time to assemble for dinner.

There was a soft touch on her arm; she turned to find Gríma standing at her side with a fawning smile, "May I escort you, my lady?"

She shuddered faintly and stepped back from his proffered arm, furiously thinking of how she could refuse in a way that would not appear rude in front of their guest. No need; the Gondorian captured her arm in a firm grip, saying, "My pardon…Gríma, is it? I have not yet atoned for my loutish behavior toward Lady Éowyn, but I pray you won't begrudge me the opportunity to try." The tight smile he gave the king's advisor would have been perfectly suitable for delivery at the point of a sword. Gríma's survival instincts were keen; he backed away with a bow and murmured pleasantries.

Gratitude flooding her she grasped Boromir's arm, his muscles hard beneath his tunic as he guided her to the table. Lord Boromir glanced sidelong at her, concern in his eyes. "I hope I haven't overstepped, my lady," he said under his breath. "You didn't seem to welcome that fellow's attention."

Her hands tightened on his arm and she gave him a grateful smile, "No, I do not," she whispered. "Thank you, my lord."

He returned the smile, his eyes dancing, "Accepting your thanks implies that there was no selfish motivation on my part, and I can assure you that is not the case. Escorting a beautiful woman is never a hardship."

During the preparations for the meal Éowyn had made certain the seating arrangements were to her liking. Théodred was seated to the right of the king as usual, but Éomer had been moved from his typical seat at the king's left hand and that position given to their guest, which, not coincidentally, put Boromir next to Éowyn. Éomer grunted in surprise at the change, but otherwise took it in stride. She suspected he was all too happy to have a chance to discuss battle strategies with Théodred all evening.

Lord Boromir's attempts at conversation with her uncle received little response, so he soon turned to Éowyn, looking visibly relieved. Their exchanges were general in nature, until finally she encouraged him to speak about the journey that brought him to Edoras. She was intrigued when she heard that the impetus for it was a dream, and even more so that his destination was the fabled elven haven of Rivendell.

He greeted her enthusiasm with a rueful chuckle, "Alas, the old tales neglect to mention that dream summons to mysterious locations do not include a map or anything in the way of useful directions! I fear I could be wandering the wild for months unless I happen upon a traveling elf that takes pity on me and steers me aright."

He looked so aggrieved by his plight that Éowyn let out a rather undignified snort of laughter which caused Éomer and Théodred to glance curiously in their direction. Boromir laughed as well, readily seeing the humor in his situation.

Then he sobered, his eyes taking on a faraway look, "In all honesty I am concerned that this journey could keep me away from Gondor for many months. The Enemy presses us closer by the day; I worry that our defenses will not hold, and it troubles me as well that my father does not trust or value Faramir's efforts as he should."

"Faramir is your brother?" Éowyn prompted softly, having heard the name in conversation before.

"Aye, he is five years the younger. A fine man and a fierce warrior, for all his gentleness of spirit." He sighed, a sad smile on his face, "I miss him already." After a moment the Gondorian shook himself out of his reverie and said heartily, "But I am certain that a lovely lady like yourself has no interest in hearing of such troubles."

Éowyn met his eyes, her voice gently chiding, "I am no child, my lord. War marches on our lands as well, and I know that a day may come when Éomer and Théodred do not return from battle. We have lost many already."

Boromir straightened and bowed slightly, "You are right, of course, my lady. I do not think of you as a child and I should not treat you as one. Please accept my apologies." He gave her a wry smile, "I am more accustomed to conversing with ladies who prefer vapid pleasantries to what is oftimes grim reality. I should have realized that you are not among their number."

"I am not, my lord, I prefer plain speaking," she said firmly.

"If directness is your preference, perhaps you would permit me to ask a frank question," the Gondorian said, keen eyes on her face.

Éowyn's heart thumped a bit, wondering what he would ask, but she replied with a gracious nod, "Of course, my lord."

His voice fell, "Your uncle's advisor, that fellow Gríma, has been watching us intently all night. Whether it is due to distrust of me or interest in you, I know not…"

"Both, I'm sure," Éowyn murmured.

"Do your kinsmen know that he presses his attentions on you? Surely they would wish to protect you from any unwelcome advances," Boromir inquired softly.

Éowyn looked down, afraid that the sympathy in his face might be her undoing, "Éomer and Théodred are often abroad and have not yet noticed. Nor have I brought it to their attention." Answering the unspoken question in his eyes, she continued, "They both despise him and would surely confront him if they knew, but Gríma has great influence with the king and I fear if they were to do so it would cause more problems than it solved."

"But…" Boromir protested, clearly unable to comprehend why her uncle would not wish to protect her as well.

"My lord, I appreciate your concern, but this is not the best time or place to discuss this," she said with a covert glance at the king in the high seat just beyond Boromir. Her voice fell to a whisper, "At times my uncle is more attentive than he seems."

"Very well," the Gondorian said with an understanding nod. "Another subject then," he said more loudly. "How goes your sword training? I hope the press of other duties has not required you to give it up."

Éowyn's chest constricted with surprise and delight. "You…you remember?' she asked, hardly able to believe her ears. "That was years ago!"

Boromir grinned, "Of course! It is not often I meet a slip of a girl scarcely wider than a blade herself so insistent on learning swordsmanship, and willing to defy her older brother to do so!"

"And I remember your kindness, my lord," Éowyn said warmly. "I _have_ continued my sword training, in no little thanks to you. There was no reason for you to have spoken for me as you did, but I am certain it influenced Éomer and my uncle and cousin; they might have insisted that I stop otherwise."

Their eyes met and held; for a moment she was certain she saw a flash of hungry desire in his gaze. It was fleeting; he looked away and took a sip of wine. "Think no more of it," Boromir smiled when he turned back to her. "I admired your spirit and felt it should be encouraged, and besides," he laughed, "it was worth it to see the look on your brother's face!"

She laughed with him and her mind went back, as it often had over the years, to the last time she had met Denethor's heir.

-ooo-

Éowyn leaned against the railing and watched with keen interest as the two men traded blows on the training ground. Though, she amended, two 'men' might be a bit generous. One was undoubtedly a man, but the other…just her brother Éomer, who as much as he liked to think of himself as full grown, seemed a mere stripling compared to Boromir, Captain-General of Gondor.

The Gondorian had come for a state visit—some business between his father, the Lord Steward of Gondor and her uncle the king—and Éomer had seized upon the opportunity to spar with such a renowned warrior. Éowyn snorted in amusement; her brother might very well be regretting that choice now for he was not faring well against the older man. She knew that Éomer was an excellent fighter for his age, he often sparred with their cousin Théodred who was of like size and experience to the Gondorian and typically held his own. But today he was getting beaten badly even though their visitor generously did not press his advantage when he could.

It was an informal bout; both wore tunics and breeches with blunted swords rather than armor, and Éowyn found herself watching Lord Boromir with more than casual interest. He was old, of course, at least thirty summers like her cousin Théodred, but nothing about him _seemed_ old. His footwork in the ring was quick and sure, his sword flashing like an extension of his arm. She noticed other things as well; the way laughter lit his face when he joked with Éomer; the play of muscles under his tunic… Éowyn blushed and shook herself—she had never thought about a man like _that_ before! On the contrary, she had always declared that girls her age sighing over her brother and the other riders showed them to be brainless ninnies.

But as she glanced down at her rail-thin figure she knew in her heart of hearts she knew that reaction was at least in part simply envy. Most of the other girls her age already looked womanly and sometimes she felt it would never happen to her. As much as she disdained the girls whose sole interest in life revolved around which men paid attention to them, she wondered whether a man would ever look at her the way Éomer stared at the buxom tavern maids.

A cry from the training field brought her attention back to the present, and she glanced up to see the Gondorian hand a red-faced Éomer his sword. Evidently her brother had been disarmed—he would surely not be pleased with _that_. Lord Boromir smiled and clapped Éomer on the shoulder in a comradely fashion saying, "You have done well, Éomer, but I think a break is in order." His green eyes fell on Éowyn, "I am thirsty and besides, it seems we have a visitor."

"Oh, that's just my sister, Éowyn," her brother said dismissively, earning a furious glare from the girl. Undeterred, Lord Boromir caught up a water skin and came to lean against the railing next to her.

"What brings you here, my lady?" he asked with a warm smile. Before she could respond he glanced to the sword at her side, his eyes widening, "Is that a blade I see?" He chuckled, "And here I thought you had come to cheer on your brother."

Éowyn could see the mortified expression on her brother's face behind the Gondorian and lifted her chin defiantly in response. "Yes, my lord. My uncle gave me leave to train with a sword a few months ago. I am waiting for my instructor to arrive."

"Train with a sword?" her brother snorted, "_Play_ with a sword is more like it."

"At least I know why Lord Boromir was beating you!" Éowyn retorted hotly.

Éomer sputtered angrily at her claim, but Lord Boromir put up a hand to stay his response. "Indeed, my lady?" he asked, his eyes narrowed in interest. "Please explain."

Éowyn flushed and looked down, suddenly nervous under such keen scrutiny. She took a calming breath and forced herself to speak, "Éomer is not as strong or experienced as you are, my lord, but that is to be expected given his age. When he spars with Théodred and the other men he is usually able to compensate with quickness. But he is accustomed to fighting against the shorter blades of the Rohirrim and you use a longer blade. I…I think he has not yet adequately adjusted for that."

Lord Boromir's face split into a grin, "Well spoken, my lady, well spoken, to be sure. And I do believe you are right." He turned to the silently fuming Éomer with a smile, "I have no doubt that you will be my match some day soon, Éomer, but in the meantime there is no reason to begrudge your sister her lessons. There might come a time when you will be grateful that she can defend herself."

Largely mollified by this praise, Éomer confined himself to muttering, "I doubt the noble ladies of Gondor study the sword."

Lord Boromir snorted in amusement, "You are correct, they do not. But since I generally find the noble ladies of Gondor to be painfully dull and fit only for bedding, I would not recommend them as an example for your sister."

Éowyn choked back bray of laughter at Éomer's horrified face as he glanced from the Gondorian to his sister and back again. Honestly, did he think her completely ignorant of what happened between men and women?

Evidently realizing belatedly the reaction his comment provoked, Lord Boromir bowed and said contritely, "Apologies, my lady, if my soldier's bluntness is cause for offense. I can assure you that was not my intent." But as he and Éomer left the field he smiled at her and she was certain she saw the merest shiver of a wink.

Éowyn was in love.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks for all the encouragement, I'm glad people are liking this story! Things will be heating up in this chapter, hope you enjoy it..._

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Chapter 2

The young woman next to Boromir fell silent, her mind obviously far away. He smiled to himself, content just to look at her for a moment. By Eru, what a beauty! He had seen hints of it when he had last visited Rohan, but he had been unprepared for just how beautiful—and desirable—she had become. Bold as well; she had taken no offense at his admittedly injudicious admiration of her—in fact, she seemed to welcome it!

Aware that he should at least attempt to speak to the king, he turned and made a concerted effort to engage Théoden in conversation. It was difficult; the king at times seemed to be unsure who Boromir was and could not sustain a discussion for more than a few sentences. He did his best to hide his growing dismay; even more surprising than Éowyn's remarkable transformation into a beautiful woman was the drastic change in her uncle. It had been eight years since his last visit to Rohan and Théoden had aged at least twenty years in that time—if not thirty. It was true he was no longer a young man, though his own father was more than a decade older, but at his last visit Théoden had been vigorous and strong, with a keen mind and a steady hand to guide his people. To see the king this way was worrisome and…painful, and he was certain it was doubly so for those who loved him.

Boromir was startled by a light touch along his left leg—the side nearest to Lady Éowyn. It was brief, and at first he thought he had imagined it, but it was soon repeated and he was forced to conclude that the lady was deliberately touching his thigh with hers. He suppressed a surge of excitement and glanced sidelong at her to find that she was watching him under her lashes. Boromir bit back a curse; he had played these games before, of course, but seldom with a lady he had every reason to believe was an untouched maiden, and never with one where a casual dalliance might have such disastrous consequences.

He was still considering how to respond when he felt her hand descend onto his thigh and begin to stroke, working its way slowly and caressingly between his legs and up his thigh toward his crotch. It was all he could do to choke back a gasp of surprise and arousal; his breeches were already beginning to tighten. Boromir's hand slid under the table, grasping her hand to stop her ministrations, at the same time glancing past the king to where Théodred and Éomer sat. They were still deep in conversation and unaware of what had happened, so he breathed a sigh of relief before turning to the woman beside him.

Boromir released her hand and spoke to Éowyn, fighting to keep his voice low and his tone even, "My lady, I am torn between hoping you know what you are doing and praying that you do not; in either case, please, it must stop!"

She was outwardly calm, but as she took a sip of wine before responding, he could see her hand trembling slightly on the glass. Their eyes met and she whispered, "I thought you would like it. I…I thought you wanted me."

Her blue eyes and full lips beckoned him; he had been fighting to contain his attraction to her all evening, and this was definitely _not_ helping. Even though Boromir knew it would be best if he said nothing to encourage her, he sensed that for some reason it was important for her to know that he desired her. He simply could not bring himself to be harsh with her, instead murmuring, "I did, Éowyn, and I _do_. But surely you can see how unwise it would be for me to act on those feelings, especially here."

She clasped his hand briefly under the table. "Come to my room then," she whispered. "Éomer and Théodred will want to have a drink with you after dinner; do so and come to my room when you're done. It is in the corridor next to yours, I will leave my door slightly ajar."

All around them chairs began to scrape as the diners left the table, and Éowyn moved to stand as well. "My lady, no!" he whispered urgently, eyes wide with shock and no small amount of trepidation at the thought of being alone with her.

"Please," she pleaded, "it would mean so much to me."

In a whirl of skirts, Éowyn was gone, leaving Boromir to stare at her retreating back wondering if he had somehow agreed to attend the niece of Gondor's most important ally alone at night in her room, and if he had, envisioning what Faramir would have to say about such an idiotic proposition. He sat back in chair, pondering his options and still half-aroused by her touch when Éomer and Théodred strolled over to speak to him. He nearly groaned aloud in dismay at the realization that he was going to spend the next half-glass drinking and exchanging pleasantries with the lady's brother and cousin.

-ooo-

Boromir glanced around the corner toward Éowyn's door, confirming that the corridor was still empty and just as unenlightening as it had been when he had last looked a few moments before. He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face; his time with Éomer and Théodred had been…trying. Although he would normally have appreciated their company, on this occasion his enjoyment was greatly marred by the knowledge that Éowyn was waiting for him in her room. And although he had considered informing them of Gríma's unwelcome attentions, in the end felt had to do so might violate her trust. Besides, he thought ruefully, it was certainly not in his interest for them to have the impression that he was the lady's confidante.

He leaned against the wall and had to resist the urge to beat his head against it; every choice before him was an ill one! Boromir knew that to meet her as she requested was the height of folly, but to simply abandon her without explanation seemed graceless and cruel. The fact that he could not linger indefinitely in the hallway was also in his mind, and brought forcefully home to him when he heard footsteps approaching. He cursed under his breath, realizing that the person drawing near was between himself and his own room, and that he had no idea whether following the corridor in the other direction would allow him to escape unseen.

Closer to panic than he had ever been on the battlefield, Boromir dashed toward Éowyn's door, opened it and slipped inside. It was only as he closed the door softly behind him and drew the latch that it occurred to him that he had no real assurance that it was actually _her_ door. What if another had left their door ajar for some reason? His heart thumping in his chest he lifted his eyes to see Éowyn, still gaping in surprise at his precipitous entrance.

Weak with relief, he paused a moment to catch his breath. In the meantime, the lady regained her composure. "Lord Boromir…" she began, but he motioned her to silence; he could still hear a heavy boot tread in the corridor. Curious, Éowyn moved closer.

The boots stopped in front of her door; there was a hard rap followed by Éomer's voice. "Éowyn, are you well? You left the table so suddenly I wondered…"

"I'm fine, Éomer," she said lightly. "Just tired, so I decided to turn in early."

Éomer chuckled, "Entertaining our guest was excessively wearying, was it?"

"Very funny, brother," she replied dryly, rolling her eyes for Boromir's benefit. He marveled at her calm, there was no strain in her voice to suggest that she was concealing anything untoward.

"Good night, sister," Éomer replied, the affection in his voice unmistakable. "Sleep well."

"You too, dear," Éowyn answered warmly, and they both listened as his footsteps retreated down the corridor.

At some point during her conversation with her brother Éowyn had moved closer to the door—and to Boromir. She was standing enticingly close to him when she next spoke, saying, "I'm sorry Éomer said that about you, Lord Boromir; of course it wasn't true."

It took him a moment to understand what she was apologizing for. "What? Oh, please, don't concern yourself," he replied with an amused snort. "If he thinks you consider me a boorish lout, all the better."

Her eyes were intent on his face, and Boromir was sure he could feel the warmth of her body, just an arms-length away. "Oh!" she scoffed. "I'm certain he knows that I enjoyed your company tonight, my lord."

"As long as he doesn't know you're enjoying it _now_," Boromir responded wryly. "And please, just 'Boromir' is fine. When a man has been invited to steal into a lady's room at night, I think it is safe to assume that the need for formal address has passed."

She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes, "You've done this often, then?"

He met her gaze forthrightly, "I don't make a habit of it, but often enough to know how risky it is." Boromir sighed, "Éowyn, if I am found here, your brother would be justified in killing me outright."

"Oh, Éomer would never do that!" she protested.

Boromir's eyes widened, "I think you are underestimating how…_upset_ he would be." He shook his head, "Even if you are correct, it could seriously damage the alliance between our two realms. Surely you don't want that."

"No, I do not," she agreed, to his mingled relief and disappointment. She looked up at him and leaned close, a slight smile on her face. "So we will have to make certain you are _not_ found."

Before Boromir understood the full extent of his peril, his arms were suddenly full of warm, soft and yielding female. He pulled her against his chest half in reflex, and when she pressed her lips to his, his will to resist disappeared completely. He held her tighter and deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding between her teeth. After a moment's hesitation she responded enthusiastically, winding her fingers in his hair to urge him closer.

He finally regained enough of his wits to pull away, panting heavily. "This is folly, Éowyn! How can you possibly want this? I am nearly twice your age!"

She shrugged and caressed his cheek, his heart thumping in response, "I know, but I want you no less because of it."

Boromir briefly closed his eyes, trying to order his churning thoughts. Eru knew that he desired her—the growing ache in his breeches left that beyond all doubt—but dare he give her what she wanted, what they _both_ wanted? He caught her gaze and asked, 'Do you have a maidservant that might…come in at an inopportune time?" deciding at the last moment that 'find us in bed' was too bald a declaration of his intentions.

"Yes, but her mother isn't well, the poor dear," Éowyn said, looking away to avoid his eyes. "I gave her the day off and she won't be back until tomorrow afternoon."

He stared at her in astonishment; shaking his head in frank admiration. Young she might be, but clearly she had more nerve and determination than most women twice her age. Boromir chuckled deep in his throat and drew her near, breathing in her heady scent. "I see you have left nothing to chance," he murmured.

She looked up at him, eyes wide with uncertainty, "Just one thing…Boromir. Whether you would want me or just dismiss me as a silly, infatuated girl."

Boromir cupped her chin in his hand. "Anyone who would dismiss you is a damn fool," he said roughly. "I'll admit my share of mistakes, but that is one I'll surely _not_ make."

Éowyn's eyes met his and her lips parted invitingly; she trailed one hand down his chest to his hip, pulling his body against hers. "Show me," she whispered.

"My pleasure," Boromir growled, kissing her hungrily. He ran his fingers through her golden hair, cradling the back of her head and touching his forehead to hers. "You are so beautiful, I've wanted you from the first moment I saw you today."

"And I've wanted you since that day I watched you sparring with Éomer," she told him. At this look of surprise she added with a smile, "Though I admit it took some time before I realized what those feelings meant."

He maneuvered her toward a bare section of wall and she gave a startled gasp when her back touched it, but her yielding warmth assured him that she did not object. The feel of her body pressed full length against his was incredibly arousing, and Éowyn seemed to find it so as well. Her hands slid down to cup his buttocks, tentatively at first, then more firmly as he moaned his approval. One hand slipped underneath his tunic and shirt to caress his bare back.

Boromir trailed kisses down her jaw and her neck to her throat and whispered, "You are right, my sweet, we are both wearing far too many clothes." He pulled her away from the wall just enough insert his hands behind her back to reach the laces of her dress. It was a beautiful dress and she looked delectable in it, but it was also heavy, tightly-laced and seriously impeding his efforts. The laces yielded to his touch; however, when he began to pull it off her shoulders he could feel her tense beneath his hands. He met her eyes with a smile, "Éowyn, it is a lovely dress and you look stunning in it, but I think you will be even more lovely without it. May I?" She smiled a little shyly in response and nodded. The tension left her and he gently pulled the loosened dress down to pool around her feet, leaving her in nothing but a thin shift.

He helped her step out of dress before pressing her to the wall once more. By Eru, she was beautiful! He could clearly see the outline of her body beneath the fabric, with her hard nipples taut against it attesting to her awakened desire. He was certain she could feel his arousal through his breeches as well as he moved against her, but if that alarmed her, she gave no sign. Boromir cupped one full breast, pulling her shift down just enough to thumb her nipple, earning him a soft moan of pleasure. He caught her chin in his hand and met her eyes, "Éowyn, I must know before we go further…when did you last have your monthly courses?"

"I…I finished just two days ago," she told him, eyes wide.

Boromir let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, "Good, that's good. We should be safe." Knowing that he could bed her without fear of pregnancy was like water bursting from a broken dam; he kissed her deeply and ground his hips against her, pressing a knee between her legs to provide better access for his roaming hands. He broke the kiss, panting heavily, "I'm hard enough to take you here and now, Éowyn, but you deserve better than that. May I carry you to bed, my lady?"

"Yes, Boromir, yes!" she whispered, clinging to him and breathing hard.

He did not have to be told twice; he bent and picked her up in one smooth movement. It was only a few steps to the bed; he crossed the room quickly and deposited her gently on the coverlet. His eyes devouring the gorgeous body laid out before him, he kicked off his boots and stripped away his tunic and shirt, leaving only his breeches as he lay down next to her.

Éowyn reached out and touched him, exploring his muscled torso with a look of wonder on her face. When she caressed his nipple, he gasped with pleasure. "Beautiful," she murmured with a smile.

"Beautiful!" he repeated in surprise. "Perhaps if you like hard, hairy, and scarred." Boromir bent to kiss her lightly, and chuckled. "I much prefer soft, smooth, unblemished…perfection," he told her, his eyes dark with desire. He resumed his exploration of her body, his hand sliding down one slender thigh and between her legs, prompting her to part her legs invitingly.

He was holding the hem of her shift in preparation for removing it when she spoke again, and there was a note of anxiety in Éowyn's voice that caught his attention, He looked up to meet her eyes. "Boromir," she said, reddening and dropping her gaze, "I truly want this; I want _you_. And I very much want to please you. But I…I hope that you will be patient with my inexperience. This is all new to me."

Boromir froze and stared at her in astonishment, at first unable to believe what he was hearing. He sat back on his heels and ran a hand through his hair, breathing heavily, "Morgoth's balls, Éowyn! Are you telling me that you _are_ a maiden?"


End file.
